


I Want To Believe (It's Not Lead Poisoning)

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two FBI agents have come to Night Vale to investigate the lights in Radon Canyon, and the imaginary corn is almost ready to harvest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To Believe (It's Not Lead Poisoning)

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-"First Date"  
> A/N: Somehow all the XF stuff coming out of Comic-Con inspired this.  
> Disclaimer: _Welcome To Night Vale_ and all related characters are the property of Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor, and Commonplace Books. _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The stars are bright. The breeze is soft. The shadows are listening. Welcome to Night Vale.

 

Listeners, I'm sure you are aware already that two visitors have recently arrived in Night Vale. They _say_ that they are from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They say that they are investigating the lights over Radon Canyon. They say that they only want to ask us a _few_ questions.

They say a lot of things, listeners.

Frances Donaldson, the tall woman with the green eyes who manages the antique mall, says that one of the agents is a woman and one is a man. The woman is short. Her hair is very red, Frances says, but she does not seem to be a witch. Frances overheard the woman tell her partner that magic was not a feasible explanation for the lights over Radon Canyon or anything else, possibly ever. 

'Mulder, there's no way that magic caused those lights,' said the woman. 'And I haven't seen definitive proof that it's caused anything else, possibly ever.'

Frances says that Mulder considered this, and then told the woman that after all these years, he would have thought she would be more open-minded, and what about the time frogs fells from the sky, or the plastic surgeon who could change his face? The woman rolled her eyes and told him that while perpetrators might engage in highly ritualized behavior in the hopes of tapping into powerful and ancient forces, and while they had in fact investigated numerous crimes where the perpetrators themselves cited magic as a factor in those crimes, she had never seen definitive proof that such forces existed, and that just because the perpetrators had convinced themselves that they had accessed some supernatural force did not mean that said force a) was real or b) was supernatural, and that you of all people, Mulder, ought to know better than to believe blindly in the delusions of the criminal. Mulder said that he knew that and he just liked to see her face when she went all skeptical. Frances says they argued like an old married couple. She says the man Mulder is tall, but not too tall, and that his features are distinguished and his eyes are shadowed by old pain that will never be forgotten. She says she offered them a lovely Danish Modern sofa, but that Agent Scully said they had no way to get it back to DC. 

The FBI agents - if that is indeed what they are - do not seem to mean us harm. However, appearances can be deceiving. Agents from a Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency have been seen following them. And no one reports seeing anyone in a leather balaclava all day, which means that the Sheriff's Secret Police must be **very** interested in them.

More on Agents Mulder and Scully as the story develops.

\+ + + + 

And now a look at the community calendar. Monday will be Tuesday (observed). Tuesday will be Friday. Wednesday is delayed until Superday. Friday is postponed until sometime next week. Thursday will happen as scheduled, and will also be the day of the Night Vale Book Fair. Make sure you bring all non-municipally-approved books to City Hall before two p.m., or honestly, Night Vale, I can't be responsible for what happens this time. _You_ know. 

Oh, and don't forget, listeners - our annual bulk item trash pickup is coming up, so make sure you collect all those large objects you just couldn't fit into the can and pile them on the curb. This year's pile must be arranged as an exact replica of the El Castillo temple at Chichen Itza, and you should douse it thoroughly with gasoline before retreating to a safe distance. Garbage collectors will ignite the bulk items in accordance with town bylaws and prehistoric ritual, and they'll be back by in, oh, probably a week or so, whenever they have time, really, to collect those ashes and dispose of them. Anything really hazardous should probably go on the bottom of the pile so it blows away last. Just in case. Anyway, what with all the rescheduling this week, I can't tell you exactly when it will happen, but get those piles started. It's a fun activity for the whole family, and a chance to really spend quality time together in your specially-reinforced bunker.

\+ + + +

John Peters, you know, the farmer, said he showed the FBI agents his crop of imaginary corn, and they were really impressed. Actually, they didn't really say anything, but he could just tell. He says Agent Scully especially seemed to appreciate the imaginary corn. Agent Mulder just brooded and asked about bees several times. Well, John, I know we're all excited for that first crop to hit the stands at the Green Market.

I'm sorry, listeners, but my phone keeps buzzing. Oh! It's a text from Carlos. You remember Carlos, listeners - our favorite scientist, perfect of hair and lovely of face. We've been on _several_ dates now, and he remains  perfect in _every_ detail. He says he's having lunch with Agent Scully at Big Rico's Pizza and that they're enjoying - if you can use that word - a mandatory slice of gluten-free pizza. He says she's a scientist too. Carlos says that her background in science, especially physics, seems very solid,and that she is mostly humoring Agent Mulder's interest in the esoteric. I'm not sure what could be called _esoteric_ in Night Vale, but there you have it, listeners. 

He also signed his last message with the letter X, repeated twice. That's two kisses. Two. 

\+ + + + 

And now, traffic. Exits 15 through 20 on Route 800 have been closed due to temporal displacement. The approved detour has citizens take a left at Oxford and drive five years into the future. 

The Eastern Expressway remains open, but the Highway Department reports that portions are experiencing rivers of blood and rains of small fish and various amphibians, so you might want to take an alternate route if you've just washed your car.

The vacant lot out back of the Ralph's will be available for street parking from 8 p.m. tonight until 8:31 p.m. All vehicles still present in the vacant lot at 8:32 will be towed to an unspecified location. Just a reminder that street parking is mandatory and carries a minimum $50 fine for compliance, and a penalty that may include any firstborn children for non-compliance. The City of Night Vale thanks you for your help in reporting all violators who keep their vehicles in their garages or those who go out of town for the evening.

That was traffic.

\+ + + + 

Old Woman Josie called to say that the FBI agents came to ask her about Radon Canyon. She told them about the door that used to be in the canyon until it was removed last year. 'Oooh, that _door_ ,' she reportedly said. 'I always told them it was going to give somebody lead poisoning or something.' Agent Mulder seemed concerned about the warnings painted on the former door, which included the words 'DANGER' and 'PLUTONIUM' and 'RISK OF DEATH'. He seemed unnecessarily focused on these warnings, especially the last one. Josie suspects he is not aware of the latest statistics on lead poisoning, which are, frankly, terrible. 

One of Josie's angel friends claimed to recognize Agent Scully. 'Hey, don't I know you?' the angel asked, according to Josie. Agent Scully looked _nervous_. She fingered the small gold cross that she wears around her neck and said that she didn't think she'd ever seen the angel before. Josie says she was very polite, but not very convincing. 

Agent Mulder asked again about the door. Josie says he seemed very enthusiastic about going down into the canyon and investigating the door, but Agent Scully told him that they didn't have any protection against radiation or plutonium or especially death. Josie reminded Agent Scully that lead poisoning was probably a greater concern. The angel - who goes by Erika, as all angels do - asked again if he and Agent Scully had met before. 'I don't usually do this,' the angel said, 'but you just look so familiar. Didn't you used to be abducted by shadow agents of a corrupt government?' Old Woman Josie says that Agent Scully glared so hard at the angel that she, Josie, was a little worried for the angel. The angel began to squirm under that ice-blue gaze, and eventually excused itself and left the room. 

Josie says that she offered both agents a nice cold glass of orange milk, but neither took her up on it. She says they left to talk to Teddy Williams, still arguing about whether or not to walk down to the previous site of the door in Radon Canyon. Agents from a Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency followed them, dressed as the bushes in Josie's front yard, and several blue helicopters were seen circling the scrub lands. The angel came back into the room and told Josie that Agent Scully knows more than she admits. Well, listeners, don't we all?

\+ + + +

And now a word from our sponsors.

In the dark, no one can hear you speak. No one can hear you weep. No one cares. The dark doesn't care. You lash out. You hit something! Or someone, perhaps - you strike flesh, yielding under your fist. But no one cries out. No one comes to find you. The dark is unchanging. The dark never ceases. One day passes and the next begins except that every day is the same. You are in some sort of prison. Some sort of **hell**. The walls are blood-hot. They throb under your hand. You curl in on yourself. You are your only solace.  You are your only hope. You. Are. Alone. 

And then. The world **ends**. The walls squeeze in until you're gasping for breath and the prison breaks open and suddenly the light - the light! - blinds you. Things will never be the same. You are free! You are cold. You are _tragically_ underdressed. 

This message brought to you by Baby Gap.

\+ + + + 

During the break, Carlos texted me again, listeners. Apparently we are having dinner tomorrow night with Agents Mulder and Scully. A double date! Agent Scully's scientific aptitude must have made quite an impression on my perfect Carlos. I hope they don't want to talk about the door all night. _Nothing_ kills a dinner conversation like discussion of strange lights and eerie, inexplicable sotto voce humming. I mean, the humming doesn't even have  words. It's not giving you secret instructions in your sleep, as far as we know, and a good set of curtains nearly block out the glow. All you really have to do is not go to the northeasternmost crook of Radon Canyon, and that's not difficult **at all**. I manage it nearly every day. I'm always not going to the northeasternmost crook of Radon Canyon! Just this morning, I thought to myself, 'Cecil, you know what you shouldn't do today? Go to the northeasternmost crook of Radon Canyon, you know, where that **door** used to be. Just take that off your schedule, today and forever.' 

...sorry, listeners. We had to have the vet in this morning to have Khoshekh's kittens spayed and/or neutered, and I'm a little emotional about it. Those precious kittens. You all know I'm not much of a cat person, but seeing those kittens drowsily sleeping it off, stitches marring their soft little bellies, and knowing that they'll only be floating six feet in the air instead of nine - well, it just _got_ to me. It seems like only yesterday they were wet, disgusting, newborn balls of sticky fluff, barely resembling the magnificent creatures they would become, and now they're mature enough for minor surgery. One day those mysterious kittens will be mysterious cats, still hovering in the men's room here at the station. It's something to think about, isn't it? We **all** remember our first minor surgery, Night Vale. But we **never** talk about it.

And with that, I take you to...the weather.

(["Smoke"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qy2bQPF1l9c) by Stuart Davis plays) 

\+ + + + 

Well, listeners, the lights from Radon Canyon are bright tonight. Fling open those ineffective blackout curtains and snuggle up to someone you love. Put on some music to drown out the humming and enjoy the show - you'll probably still be able to see tomorrow. Nobody was ever able to prove that the lights caused all that trouble anyway. Nothing that beautiful could cause any lasting harm, right? 

I'm glad that our visitors from the FBI are enjoying themselves. I hope they continue to soak in the hospitality of our little desert town. When it comes right down to it, Night Vale, between the sand wastes and the scrub lands, between the rock of Desert Bluffs and the hard place of whatever it is that shrieks out in the empty vastness until your head _aches_ and your nose _bleeds_ and you just want to _hide_ under the covers until  it all goes away, all we really have is each other. I have you and you have me and we have this little community radio station, this feeble signal broadcasting out into the night like the impotent mew of a newly-neutered floating kitten. Can you hear it, listeners? Can you hear me? Good. We have made it through another day. We might not be sure which day it was, but we have made it from the moment the sun poured over the edge of the desert landscape until the moment it poured back over the other edge. _Good_ for us. 

Tomorrow, Night Vale, the sun is likely to come up, in much the same way it did this morning. It will shine for a good amount of the day. We all hope that the light will drive back the dark for those precious hours. It is all we ever hope. The agents of the FBI have come to investigate what they believe to be a dark place. I believe, Night Vale, that we can show them that not all mysteries are shrouded in darkness. Some are drenched in light - not only the literal lights that emanate from that strange, crooked end of the canyon, but the metaphorical lights that we carry in our hearts. And I hope they'll really enjoy the Endless Shrimp special at the Red Lobster, where Carlos and I will dine with them tomorrow. I'll be sure to make a full report, not only on the dinner conversation, but on the quality of the shrimp scampi. It's been a little uneven since they had that scare with the baby kraken in the walk-in fridge. 

Until then, good night, Night Vale. Good night.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: I Want To Believe (It's Not Lead Poisoning)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/961551) by [leiascully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully)




End file.
